All Was Lost
by Blue Moons and Pink Suns
Summary: A what-happened-to-Carol, eventual-Caryl fic set as an AU after "Too Far Gone". This is a companion piece for my story Everything Was Gone, in Carol's POV, but you can read one without the other without too much confusion. Ongoing.
1. Chapter 1

**Huge AN #1: This is an AU eventual-Caryl story following our queen after season 4, episode 8 "Too Far Gone". I will be taking and changing elements from the canon arc as I see fit, but for the most part this is original. This fic is a companion piece for my ongoing story Everything Was Gone, although it's not necessary to read both if you just want to read this one. This is like bonus material. :) It's pretty much the same story, only I'm telling it from Carol's point of view. If you love our queen as much as I do, you may just like this story! I'm not sure yet if the chapters are going to be in-sync, or if this is just going to be told as Carol's story. Anywho, now that I've finally started this one, I'm not sure how quickly updates to EWG will be posted, because I eventually want to get these two synced up. I'll try to update EWG (at least!) once a week. I've never attempted anything like this, but a challenge is always good, right? XD Right. So I will definitely need y'all's help with this. :) I really hope I don't screw this up, so please enjoy!******

**Disclaimer (this is counting for the entire story THANK YOU VERY MUCH): I do not own or write for The Walking Dead or AMC.******

**WwW**

All was lost.

It was all gone, it had all been taken from her.

Lizzie. Mika. Daryl. Maggie and Glenn, Judith and Carl, Hershel and Beth.

And Rick. Rick was lost now too.

They had all been stolen from her.

She drove away with her throat clogged and her nose spouting.

She choked on her sobs as they echoed across her form, felt the way they stole from her lungs and left them seizing and gasping for the air she couldn't take in.

The road was long and straight, no hills or wrecks or turns, so she had to keep driving until the Hyundai pulled out onto the blacktop. She kept her eyes trained on the rear view mirror until she saw its shiny mint interior speed off, back towards home and everyone she loved.

She stopped in the road. No need to pull over. She stopped and she unbuckled and she cranked up the Beatles CD in the hippie's car to full blast, letting the lyrics wash over her and blend with her sorrow and pain.

The pain was too great, so similar to when she lost Sophia and Lori and T-Dog and Andrea and Dale. The list was too long, this pain much too familiar.

The empty hole that had opened in her chest was spreading, swallowing hope and will and love, leaving her feeling exhausted and empty.

She wanted to die. She wanted to give up, give in, forget about her family and her friends and her girls. She didn't want to deal with this. Didn't think she could. Didn't even want to try.

So she sat and cried. And sang. And cried some more.

And when her tears had run out, her eyes puffy and sore, she allowed herself ten minutes of peace, of not thinking, of not letting thoughts enter her mind, just counting her breaths. That's all she did, just counted.

And when her ten minutes had run out, she knew she needed to grow up, face her problems, and fix this.

She had to fix this. This would not be it.

She had Mika and Lizzie back at the prison. She had made a promise, but Rick was right: she could never bring those girls out to live on the lam with her. She had killed Sophia that way. She couldn't kill them that way, too.

So that meant she had to go back.

Which meant she would have to find a way for herself to be forgiven, or she should have to confess.

She could not, could never, confess. She couldn't. And she wouldn't. She owed it to his mother to protect him, had sworn she would, and that's just what she was going to do.

An anger smoldered deep in her gut at Rick's words. Anger, pain, betrayal played in circles, tumbled and rolled about in her core, tricking her heart into entertaining their notions.

She had taken care of Judith when Rick wouldn't even look at her. She had fed Carl and stitched his torn blue jeans while he lay comatose in an abandoned hospital. She had promised Lori she would care for not just her children, but Rick also, when she was gone.

And she had. She had done it all.

How could he have done such a thing to her? Rick was one of her fondest friends, someone she previously would have trusted with her life, and had, on several occasions. Had put her daughter's life in his hands, had forgiven him when he couldn't save her, when she put a bullet through her baby's brain.

He was ill. She had known it for a long time. Abuse ran deep in her side of the family, and trauma disorders were just part of the package. Her brother had shot their own father to death to defend her and her mother when she was just a baby, and that look in his eyes, that empty, horrible pain of guilt and doubt was as present in Rick's eyes as they had been in Will's.

Had been. Will had been gone for a long time now.

She knew what waited at the end of Rick's path. She had seen it up close and personal.

And that was why she had let him play farmer all those months, let him extricate himself from the Council, let him bury his guns in a strongbox in the garden.

It was stupid, but it seemed to be keeping him sane. Him and Carl both.

But things had still needed doing, and beyond what the Woodbury grandparents deemed appropriate.

They had never survived in this world, had been sheltered and protected as a courtesy. But their grandchildren and great grandchildren would not be extended the same by the world, and they needed to understand that.

But they didn't. And so she had modified Story Time.

She had done something. She had stepped up.

Rick may have been a good, strong man at some point, but he was weak now. And the good was beginning to wane as well.

She thought about this all in silence, Abbey Road echoing in her thoughts and adding their two cents.

She couldn't leave Lizzie and Mika, Carl and Judith. She had sworn. And her word was all she had left at this point.

She couldn't leave Daryl. The thought of her life without him made her quake inside, the idea of never seeing those green eyes un squint at her in understanding repulsive to her very core.

She loved him. She loved him with everything she had, had loved him for a long time. She doubted he would ever be able to be in a relationship with her, and while that sent little pricks of fire behind her eyes, she couldn't change it. And she loved him, more than almost anything. His happiness meant more to her than a shared bunk and a privacy curtain.

Even if he didn't love her like she loved him, she knew he cared. Knew he didn't really have anyone else to talk to about things. They would always have something special, a bond, because of Sophia.

She couldn't throw that away. In some sick spectrum of her mind, Daryl was her last tie to her daughter.

She couldn't leave them. She couldn't do it. They were all she had left, she couldn't, she could not, she _would not leave them_.

She buckled back up and pulled a U-turn.

This wasn't it. She was going back.

**wWw******

**AN #2: Thank you so very much for reading! :) I love you all so much.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN #1: Hello again everyone! Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy!**

**WwW**

She had just passed the sub-division when the tire blew.

The sound took her by complete surprise, and she lurched the wheel, ducking, her panicked mind immediately telling her that Rick had seen her, he had caught her, and now he was going to kill her.

But then another shot didn't follow, and the car was riding lopsided, and she knew.

The very fact that the image of Rick opening fire on her had come to her mind terrified her, shook her to her very core, that her sub-conscious thought him capable of something like that.

She stopped the car quickly, holding her hand over her heart to try and steady it, rationing her breaths, trying to think past the roaring in her ears.

She needed to change the tire. That was it. That was all she needed to do.

She got out and commenced a search of the car.

"Of course," she grumbled, throwing all of the car's contents out onto the blacktop to search for a jack.

There wasn't a jack. There wasn't a wrench. And there was not spare tire.

She cursed his name as she threw the crap back into the car, yelled and kicked the car, cried and moaned some more.

And then she slid back into the driver's seat and crawled the car back into the subdivision.

It wasn't like she needed the rim anyway, right?

**wWw**

She searched every abandoned car for tools, and for a tire that fit.

The first red SUV had a spare tire, but it was too large. It had a jack, too, which was a plus. The next three cars were busts, until she found a magical little PT Cruiser with both a spare tire and a wrench.

It was evening by then. Night was coming fast, and if she knew anything, she knew that she could not change this tire by the time night fell.

She would just have to wait for morning.

By the time she got back, Lizzie could be dead from the flu. He could have killed others. Glenn and Sasha could have succumbed.

And here she was, stranded, twiddling her thumbs and listening to the cicadas.

She hated the cicadas. Hated the memories that surfaced at their screaming, of a summer spent waiting for her little girl to come home. Summers before the Turn of not being able to send Sophia away to safety for most of the day.

Summers were always hard.

She sank low into her seat as a walker stumbled out of the woods, walking awkwardly, its gait strange and not quite normal.

She recognized the bald head and the muscle shirt. Bit her lip.

There was a raw patch of flesh on his shoulder where a walker had taken a chunk out of him. He must have died recently, because he seemed to still be mostly intact.

Her stomach clenched and she felt guilt build in her chest, constricting painfully. She should have done something. Should have let them stay in the car while they cleared the neighborhood, given them another gun.

But deep in her gut, she knew their time had been overdue. They weren't the type of people that survived in this world, the type that got to live.

It kept up its shambling walk, going slowly towards one of the houses.

Which was strange, unless it had seen movement. Most walkers stayed relatively dormant, didn't really move unless immediately stimulated. And they definitely didn't change direction for no reason.

She held her breath as she opened the car door loudly, reaching down to her blade to wait.

The walker whipped its head around at the sound, but instead of groaning, or hissing, it cried in relief.

Her heart sank.

She would do what she could.

**WwW**

She met him across the grass and helped him into the house he had been hiding in when they found him.

He was borderline hyperventilating, his gun still on his belt, Rick's watch still on his wrist.

"They got her," he choked out, moaning as Carol set him down on the couch in the living room, reaching around to take a throw blanket to cover him up. "They got her, and it was so fast, and then they got me, and I tried... I tried…" He wheezed again, brought his hands up to his face, cried out as the movement jostled the wound on his shoulder.

Carol knelt on the floor beside him and stroked his head through her tears. She had just been in this situation, not two days ago. She knew the drill.

But the only person worth saying good-bye to had been stolen just a couple of hours ago.

He cried crocodile tears, and she wiped them from his face with gentle hands, tried to keep her voice light, tried not to be negative.

But how positive could she be? They both knew how this ended.

She stroked his head until he quieted.

"Tell me about your daughters," he croaked. "The one's that you said were back at the prison? Safe? Can you tell me about your family?"

She smiled at him and nodded. She thought about telling him about Sophia and Ed, but this man was dying, had just had his only hope taken from him.

She wouldn't let him be any sadder than he was already.

So she talked about Lizzie and Mika, and how their hair was a sweet honey blonde and how she trained them up strong and taught them to use their knives. She told him about her friend Rick's children, about how Carl like comic books and how Judith liked carrots.

She told him about Daryl.

And something about being there all alone with him, telling him things he wouldn't have time to speak of, prompted her to talk more frankly with him than she had with anyone in a long time, at least about Daryl.

She told him how Daryl had searched and searched for her baby girl, omitting how that had ended. She talked about how he had found her when she was lost, how he had protected them all, time and time again.

His chin quivered a little while she spoke. He brought a hand to her face and held it there, and she let him, because while it did not make her feel better in the slightest, it made him feel better.

And dying people are allowed certain courtesies.

"I loved Anna, too," he whispered. "I loved her more than I loved anyone else, ever, in my whole life."

He sighed, seemed to finally resign himself, and closed his eyes. "Maybe I'll see her again."

Carol waited beside him until his time came, and when it did, she ended it.

**wWw**

She went back to the car after that.

She took Rick's watch from his bloody wrist, and took the gun from his belt. And then she went back to the car and locked the doors, sat in silence.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep by herself. Was pretty positive she wouldn't be able to, but knew she needed to try, just a little.

But the dying boy's face echoed in her mind, and the knowledge of what lurked beyond the glass windows of the car sent shivers down her spine.

She would try.

**WwW**

**AN #2: Thank you everyone for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN #1: Hello everyone! Thanks so much for hanging around with me. I hope you enjoy.**

**WwW**

She woke late the next morning to muffled moans and vibrating glass.

She had to stifle a scream as her eyes flew open to see a ravaged body trying to gnaw on her through the window. She flew across the console to the other side of the car, hitting the gear shift against her thigh as she went, covering her mouth to contain the screech of terror that was rising in her throat.

_It's just a walker. Just a walker. You can do this._

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, out, in, out, in, and then she drew her knife and opened the passenger door, let herself roll out onto the concrete.

It was just the one, of which she was grateful. The dead thing shambled towards her, one arm gone at the shoulder, the other gone at the elbow. She briefly wondered if Michonne had been at work nearby, but the bloody lower jaw killed that thought.

She walked towards it quickly, ready to get it over with, and plunged her knife hilt-deep in its eye, pulling it out just as fast.

She sighed, wiped her brow. "Good," she chirped to herself. "That's over with."

And then her eyes fell on the torn tire, its body hanging in shreds from the bloody rim.

Well. Might as well get that over with.

**wWw**

She stewed the whole car ride home.

She was pissed off, and the more she thought about it, the madder she got.

How dare he do something like this to her? Leave her? Out here? Alone?

There were horrible things out in the world these days, things that were absolutely _not safe _for a lone woman.

And she didn't mean the walkers.

Walkers were a part of it, yes. Herds were very bad, and as she experienced the night before, sleeping in the dark, without a fence or the knowledge that someone else's eyes were doing the work for you, was difficult at best. She had stared out into that inky blue mess for hours, not being able to drift off until the sun was up and she could actually _see. _

The fear of the dark was one completely founded in this new world.

She stewed and she contemplated and she reasoned with herself as she drove. Talked to herself, too, just to hear the words coming out of her mouth, testing how they sounded to her heavy ears.

"I'm very hurt that you said those things to me, Rick."

"I tried to protect _all _the children, Rick. Not just Lizzie and Mika. Judith _and_ Carl."

"How dare you say that you would not trust me with your children?! Where were you when Judith was first born? Where were you when Carl was just a little boy who missed his father?! Where were you?"

"I understand your emotions Rick, but this simply is not a matter that you can deal with. You can't make this call."

"Let me talk to Daryl."

She needed to get back.

But the angrier she got, the louder that inner voice became, the one that pleaded with her to be kind, be considerate, see it from his point of view. Be reasonable.

Remember your promise.

The day Lori had made her promise had been a good day. They were holed up in a little motel, and Rick was patrolling. Lori was big and pregnant, and her and Rick had been getting along better.

All the others had been sharing stories of the old life, and when they had gone to retire in their little rooms, Carol had gone and slipped into bed with Lori, because while sleeping alone was almost a comfort to her in those days, it was miserable for Lori. So she had snuggled up against the space heater of a woman and made to go to sleep.

But Lori had rolled over and taken her hand. It had been so dark they could hardly see, but Carol could remember the way her teeth shined in the night, the way she could just barely make out the shadows of her eyes, the slope of her head and shoulders.

"Promise me," she had whispered fiercely, emotion cracking her words. "Promise me you will keep my baby alive for as long as you can."

Carol had shaken her head, clasped her hands between her own strongly. "Lori, you _will _have this baby. You won't need me."

Her pearly teeth had twisted into a Cheshire smile as she threaded her fingers through her friend's.

"Just promise me. Promise me you'll keep my baby alive, and that you'll take care of my family."

She had felt the tears coming on then, the thought of losing one of her best friends so great that she could hardly stomach it. She didn't trust herself to answer, to let on to her weakness, that she was just as scared as Lori was. She had to be strong. She had to be strong for her friend.

So she nodded and squeezed her hands together, waited a couple minutes until the lump in her throat had subsided and she could speak without shaking again.

"I promise."

Lori had nodded, sighed, and fallen asleep right then and there.

**WwW**

She was roughly ten minutes from the prison when she saw them.

A herd, the likes of which she had never even dreamed of, all heading towards her home.

She slammed on her brakes when she saw them, and pulled a U-turn before she even had time to process what she had seen.

They were coming for the prison. All of them.

There was no way they could defend themselves against a horde that size. The prison would be lost in hours, completely infiltrated, and she could only pray it would only be their home that would belong to the dead.

Her heart pounded in her chest. What was she going to do? What could she do? She couldn't go back that way. She would have to make a detour.

She stopped the car and reached over to the glove compartment to look for a map.

The engine died, and she heard it immediately.

Gunfire. And lots of it.

She was only a couple miles from her family, and she could hear it, she could _hear them dying._

The herd was already there. And more were coming.

She ripped open the glove compartment in a panic, frantically throwing candy wrappers and napkins out onto the floor, until she found what she was looking for.

She found the prison on the worn roadmap that was penciled over with circles and x's, whole areas obliterated with graphite.

She traced the road she was on with her finger, and then traced a round-about way to get there.

There was only one road that led directly to the front prison gate, and it was clogged with the undead. If she wanted to get there, maybe help some escape, hopefully rescue some of the children, she would have to go completely roundabout and then hike through the woods to get to the back fences.

She threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator, pushing the car as fast as its engine would take them, out away from the sea of dead.

**WwW**

She drove through the whole day and whole night, dodging walkers and moving trucks, heaving felled trees a couple feet to be able to bypass them, trying desperately to read the map in the dim light of the cab without swerving or taking a wrong turn.

But she did take wrong turns. And there were times she simply could not take the route she needed to, turn-offs being completely blocked with dead cars on flat tires, plains of heads swiveling to her headlights, awakening from their slumber.

She couldn't hear the gunshots anymore, and though a small part of her knew it could be a good sign, that they had won, the greater part of her, the louder part of her brain, screamed at her in terror and panic that it was over, it was all over, they had been overrun and everyone was dead.

But she wouldn't believe it until she saw it.

It was dawn and she was getting close. The morning rays of light had illuminated a cloud of smoke that rose from the prison and clogged her nostrils with the horrible smell of gun smoke and burning flesh.

She drove with her windows down, hoping against fate that perhaps someone was out there, in the woods, escaping, and all she had to do was find them, call them to her, and then they could speed away in her little station wagon, back to one of the safe houses.

Safe houses. Would Rick welcome her? Would he greet her with a brandished Python or outstretched arms?

_They could still be okay._

_They could still be alive._

_They could just be burning the bodies._

She prayed to herself silently as she crawled along the highway that ran parallel to the tracks, windows all the way down, radio and air off, listening.

And then she heard it.

Screaming. The kind of screaming that comes from someone who is having everything stolen, taken from them. Someone who knew all was lost.

She ripped her handgun off the dash and threw the car into park, killed the engine and tucked the keys into the console. Took her knife out and _ran._

She ran through the woods, half tripping and barely catching herself on roots and brambles, her boots obliterating anything they laid on. The person who was screaming was male, and older.

_Daryl._

A wisp of horror ghosted down her lungs, spread out through her veins and empowered her to run faster, stomp harder, keep the groaning of walkers behind her and that screaming in front of her.

She faintly registered that the screaming sounded nothing like Daryl, but it didn't matter, it didn't matter, it could be him and _she could be losing him this very second._

And then she heard a gunshot right in front of her, popping her ears, and the fear clutched her heart and shook it and she ran and she pumped her arms and she gasped and the moans were in front of her now and then she broke through the bushes-

And screamed. Screamed her head off and leveled her gun at the girl before her, holding the limp, blue baby, her eyes red and rolled to the back of her head.

Mika's head swiveled towards her.

"Carol! Help us!"

Her hands shook on the trigger as her eyes flitted between the walkers, half a dozen of them, coming from all directions.

And Judith, looking to be passed out, not there, maybe dead, in Lizzie's fierce arms, those little hands snuffing the life out of her.

She pulled the trigger.

**wWw**

Mika screamed, but she didn't hear it.

Everything was ten thousand leagues under the sea, the whole world warped and blurry, voices slow and stupid.

She felt her arms steal the baby from the older girl, tuck her into Mika's blood-spattered sleeves.

She tossed her gun to the ground, not bothering to fool with the inferior thing that had done nothing to scare Lizzie. She swung with her knife, pounding it home into the eye socket of the nearest walker.

Mika screamed, and she whipped around, knife out, ready to avenge the fury that had taken over, left her seeing red, ready to take blood and willing.

It would not happen again. _It would not happen again._

_**Little tennis shoe clad feet stumbling, picking over fallen brethren.**_

_**Hands coming up to shield dead blue eyes.**_

_**A snarl contorting her bloody mouth.**_

She bellowed as she stabbed with her knife, protecting her children, doing what she hadn't done that day.

_It will not happen again._

_**A high-pitched keening sound rising in her throat, lurching forward, calling her name.**_

_**Strong arms catching her, holding her, hushing her.**_

"_**Don't look. Sssh. Don't look."**_

She was looking now.

She was looking and she was strong.

She killed them all. She swung and stabbed and spun until there was nothing left, and her ears popped.

Mika's cacophony was ringing as she held the baby who, for all purposes, looked to be dead. She was screaming and crying and begging Carol or Lizzie for help.

Lizzie just stared, dead-eyed, hands loose and unclenched.

Carol flew forward, her body aching from exertion, her breath coming in fast, quick gulps, as she held the baby and checked her pulse.

Faint, but there.

She blew on her face, tapped her back, whispered to her as she went.

And then Judith cried out and gasped, sucked in lungful after lungful of precious air, her face going from blue to bright red in a matter of seconds.

Mika choked on her sobs and leaned on Carol, hugged her around her waist as she took the baby and set her on her hip, leaning her cheek against her temple and hushing her.

But each time her eyes fell on Lizzie, she would start crying again.

Carol looked at Lizzie with unhidden horror.

"What were you doing?!" she whisper-screamed at her, clutching the child closer to her.

Lizzie stared. Didn't answer.

Carol turned to Mika then. "What. Happened."

Mika sniffled, wiped her nose with her dirty sleeve. "We – we left with Tyreese. He heard someone yelling, so he put us back to back and went to go help them."

She felt the blood drain from her face at Mika's words. Nodded slowly, and then turned to Lizzie again. "We have to go find him, then," she whispered, eyes locking on Lizzie's, waiting for her to show any sign of comprehension to her surroundings.

She waited for several seconds before giving up. She circled around the bodies and scooped up her gun. Mika's was on the ground too, so Carol picked it up and inspected it, handing it to her.

"Next time," she started kindly, closing the girl's fingers over the handle smoothly, "if it jams, run. Run until you can't run, and then use your knife. If you can cut the backs of their knees, or ankles, they won't be able to run, and you can kill them when they fall."

Mika nodded quickly, sniffing loudly and breathing deep.

She angled herself to mirror Lizzie. "We have to go now."

A part of her wished she had had the courage to send that bullet home. Another part of her wished the girl would just go, run, outrun her and leave, so that she wouldn't have to deal with her.

_I made a promise._

She breathed in deep and slow, and looked at her again.

"Lizzie."

And then she blinked. Looked around her in confusion. And saw Carol and launched herself at her, flying, arms wide and grin cheeky.

Carol felt herself take a step back as the girl hugged her tightly and started laughing.

"I knew you'd come! I knew you'd find us!"

Carol awkwardly patted her back, Judith wriggling away and screaming.

She pushed her to a safe distance and forced a smile, knew it didn't reach her eyes, didn't care.

"Let's go find Ty."

Lizzie nodded and skipped ahead, taking Mika's hand as she did. Mika was calm, collected. Didn't seem to think anything of what she saw of Lizzie's behavior.

Carol sighed deep, wobbled on her knees as the events of the last several minutes echoed in her memory, relaying everything like a radio sports host.

Six. She had killed six of them, with her knife, in less than a minute.

She smirked in pride despite herself, shifted Judith on her hip, and headed behind the girls.

**WwW**

**AN #2: Thank you everyone for reading! Drop me a line if you feel up to it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN #1: Guys. The amount of Deth in the archives is strangling me. I think I may be taking it a little too personally, but it's become a challenge now. I'm going to try and counter-clog with as much angsty/fluffy Caryl as humanly possible.**

**Well. This isn't very Caryl-y yet, but we're getting there, guys. ;)**

**WwW**

She clutched Judith to her side, kept her bloody knife out as she followed her girls deeper into the woods.

She knew by the angle they were taking that they were nearing the train tracks, which was a blessing and a curse. The way to the first safe house was perhaps a day's walk from the tracks; the path perfect and laid out before them.

The male screaming had halted, but anxiety was still clenching her heart. She knew it wasn't Daryl now, now that she had had a moment to relax and breathe and to truly think. But that didn't mean it wasn't someone else. Glenn or Hershel…or Rick. Tyreese had to run off to help _someone_.

She saw them when they were still several yards back. There was a man crouched on his knees, holding a younger teenage boy to his chest. He was sobbing as their blood pumped from their arteries simultaneously, emptying their life from them at the same time. She didn't recognize their faces, but their pain, the older man's cries, rang in her brain as painful truth. The bodies strewn around them were old and had been bludgeoned to death.

Tyreese towered over them, breathing heavy, his hammer covered in black blood and rotted gray matter. His expression was pensive and painful, his eyes narrowed. The man that was dying quickly, perhaps holding his son, was speaking in choked words, gasping on his final breaths, pleading with him.

"-on the tracks. We didn't… We were scared… The signs said to stay on the tracks but we weren't sure," he sobbed, looking at Tyreese, begging him not to make his own mistakes.

Mika gasped and tightened her grip on Lizzie, but the older girl didn't reciprocate. She angled her head to the side, and when Carol went to stand in front of her, she saw a smirk on the little girl's face as she watched the people before her die.

She felt her face flush with horror, but she wouldn't dwell on it, couldn't think about the psychosis that was coursing through Lizzie's mind. There were more important things in this moment.

Like Tyreese.

The man's eyes flitted towards her as she side-stepped between two trees to reveal herself. She kept her knife out and held onto Judith firmly, hoping that the girl would serve as a sort of protection if Tyreese had heard from Rick about her banishment, if he was going to be hostile or violent at all towards her.

But as soon as she laid tentative eyes on him, she knew he had been told nothing. His face brightened, and he half-sobbed, half-laughed as he surged forward with open arms.

She sheathed her knife in relief as he bear-hugged her, wrapping his arms around her strongly and laying a gentle hand on Judith's strawberry blonde scalp.

"Oh, God," he breathed. "Thank God. Did you see anyone else? Did you see if anyone else got out?"

She swallowed, shook her head against his neck and blinked roughly, the sudden reality crashing into her like a freight train.

It hadn't really hit her, before. She had briefly acknowledged that the girls were out here with Judith and Ty, but the implications of that didn't sink in until her friend asked her if anyone else of their family had survived.

She choked on a sob, but immediately sucked it in, breathed it in, internalized it and locked it away as she shook her head fiercely, rubbing her eyes and smiling to put him at ease.

_They were gone._

_It was over._

_They could all be dead._

"No," she croaked. "I didn't."

Tyreese's face fell, but he nodded and smiled again. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad to see you."

She forced her grin to stay put on her face and nodded, then turned to look at the men before her.

A part of her, a sliver of her old self, reached forward to turn the baby's face, to keep her from looking at the dying men in front of her, covered in their own blood from horrible wounds that would take their lives in minutes.

A part of her wanted to protect this little blue-eyed child from seeing tears of anguish and shed blood.

But it was how she came into this world, and, in all likelihood, how she would go out.

So she didn't move her, didn't angle her head to the crook of her neck. She stood over the men and squelched the horrible pity she felt at their pain, their acceptance.

The boy had been bit on the shoulder.

_Had she cried like this?_

_Had she waited for it to come, knowing there was no savior to be had?_

_She hadn't had anyone to hold her._

She swallowed hard and narrowed her eyes.

"Where were you from?" she ground out.

The man lifted his head from his cries, not bothering to wipe his face or try to speak without crying.

"The tracks," he choked. "We were heading to Terminus. There… there are signs. We came into the woods to sleep."

He shook his head, looked down at the boy that had either passed out or died in his arms. "Don't do that," he whispered. "Stay on the tracks. Go to Terminus. I think… I think it's safe."

He tightened his grip around the limp boy. "Don't risk the woods. Not… Not with a baby."

And with that, he pulled his knife from where it lay to his left, and he plunged it deep into the temple of the body he held in his arms, screaming savagely as he went.

Mika cried out, and Judith followed suit. She turned around and took the younger girl to her stomach, hushing her and the baby both as Lizzie stared.

She turned back around, letting go of Mika and handing the baby to Tyreese. He nodded sadly to her as she pulled her gun from her waistband and clicked the safety.

"Don't look," she whispered.

**wWw**

They went back to her car for supplies after that. She crammed all the drugs she could fit into the single backpack, taking the power bars and the few water bottles with her. She stuffed the single sleeping bag on top of her pack, and tucked two pots into the arms of the girls. Studying the map the whole night through had its advantages, one of which was the knowledge of a river that ran alongside the tracks.

They walked for miles after they had found the tracks again. She had wanted to take the car, but they couldn't find a Terminus on her map, so all they had to go off of was that you could get there by following the tracks.

She had taken Judith back, and the child's weight in her arms was heavier than she liked to admit.

She wanted to go to the safe houses. Tyreese wanted to go to Terminus. He said that he knew Sasha would take the chance at a new life, that she would move on before searching for him. He tried to say the same about Daryl, but she had shaken her head at him, silencing him.

Daryl didn't relinquish hope. He never had. If there was one thing she could rely on in this world, it was the fact that he would search for her, for all of them, until the day he died.

But she had nodded to him, thinking to herself that perhaps that was best, giving Rick some time to cool down before reuniting with the group.

Maybe he would come forward by then.

And if Daryl reunited with everyone, she hoped he would come looking for her.

If he was alive. If any of them were alive.

_They're alive._

She had to believe that. She _had to._

**WwW**

They stopped so that she could change Judy's diaper at the first map.

Tyreese was ecstatic to finally see proof that they had been walking towards a true goal, but Carol wasn't so sure.

There weren't any other signs. No dead campsites from other hikers. No packs of supplies for people who were making this ungodly long trek.

She prayed they weren't walking into a trap.

She checked behind her, to the gravel between the ties of the tracks. Mika had taken to balancing on the rails, but the rest of them were leaving nice indentions on the rocks.

She stomped purposely in the mud with Judith as she headed to place the glow-in-the-dark-white diaper in the tall weeds near the trees, careful to hide it just enough not to draw immediate attention, but bright enough that he could see it.

He needed to see it.

_He's not coming._

_He's gone._

_He's lost._

**wWw**

She had to force Ty to stop.

The walkers were plentiful, of which she was almost grateful. Each body was a reminder, a mark of their survival, a beacon for anyone who may come looking for them.

The walker situation was getting worse, too, but Carol couldn't make herself worry or be upset about it. Each body was a reminder, a mark of their survival, proof of their existence, and whoever found them would know that.

The girls were tripping over themselves, slapping frustratingly at their faces as mosquitoes and gnats gnawed on them. Judith was beyond fussy, and all the water bottles had been depleted, even the ones in the diaper bag.

So she laid out the sleeping bag, built a tall fire with some nice green leaves, and sent Tyreese and Lizzie to go get water from the river.

The smoke cloud was tall.

She smirked to herself.

_Come on home, baby._

**WwW**

**AN #2: Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated. : )**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN #1: Last EP was a doozy, but even if we were able to resist spoilers (I did!), I think most everyone knew what was going to happen. But, while it wasn't exactly a surprise, it was still shocking. Our queen is stronger than any of us know, and I hope to do her justice in this little baby fic. :3 Also, she needs happiness, so it's reunion time. :D**

**WwW**

She hadn't wanted to move on just yet, and so they hadn't.

They dawdled around, boiling water and changing Judith's diapers, not going anywhere or really doing anything.

She said it was to give the little girls a rest, that they couldn't keep up like this, but the real reason, she knew, was that she had kept the fire burning all night and all morning, and she couldn't leave it just yet. It was her lighthouse and her the keeper.

Tyreese didn't argue with her. He was tired, too, she knew, and there was a certain advantage to being the unofficial matriarch to the prison. You got perks. Such as the right to boss everyone around.

It was getting late and she was getting worried, starting to feel that sick stretch in her gut as she thought out every horrible thing that could have happened.

And she felt stupid. She felt so stupid, so incredibly dumb. Daryl was…Daryl. He wouldn't come tearing off after her. He would find Rick, find Glenn and Hershel and the girls, probably Michonne.

He wouldn't come after her.

But the niggling hope, so close to burning out and collapsing her whole being into a pile of gray ash, stayed, clutched to her, strangling her with its ideas and dreams.

_He's not coming._

_It's over._

_Move on._

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't move on, try to survive with a baby and two children, one of which was bordering on sociopathic, if not outrightly psychopathic. She couldn't keep Sophia alive, so how could she possibly keep these _three _girls alive?

_You're stronger now._

_You're strong and you're not afraid._

_It won't happen again._

Tyreese seemed to sense her inner turmoil, and he asked her once what was wrong, but she had brushed him off and he had nodded, understanding. At least, thinking he understood.

Sophia was dead because of her, and here she had still been entrusted with three more children. How was that fair? Is that how the universe worked? Take one child away, then give three more?

They weren't hers, not really. They were Lori and Rick's; Ryan's. She was just babysitting, keeping watch, playing substitute.

A bad substitute.

She saw the way Lizzie looked at the baby, occasionally even how she looked at Tyreese and Mika. Most of her sweetness was gone, and Carol found herself desperately searching for options, trying to think of _anything _she could do to change her, fix her, make it so they all went as long as possible with their lives intact.

_You could kill her._

_Fast and quick._

_Bring her into the woods, put her down, tell the others she ran away._

_Write a note in the dirt saying she got bit and was going away to turn._

_You could do that._

The horror at her own thoughts had been instantaneous; the shame and regret coursing through her veins like lightning, begging her to stop, don't think like that, everything's okay, everything is okay.

But it wasn't. Nothing was okay.

So instead she had taken turns with Tyreese on watch, holding the baby during both encounters, curling her body around the girl protectively like she had done for years with Sophia, enclosing her in a prison of warm flesh and soft songs to keep the monster away, the monster with a smoking mouth and bloody knuckles.

It was a different monster, this time around, but a monster nonetheless.

_Promise._

_Promise._

_Promise._

And then it was morning and they had started all over again, and then it was afternoon and the mosquitoes were out, and then it was evening and the cicadas were singing and Judith was crying.

And it happened.

She heard Beth first, a high-pitched wail cracking through the trees and scattering birds as the young girl called out to the hiccupping baby.

She smiled to herself and quickly finished the girl's diaper, readying her to be handed over to the other half of their surrogate-mama duo.

Judy's head whipped around at the voice, her eyes wide and searching, her mouth hanging open in shock, blotchy face de-contorting immediately.

And then the girl hobbled from around the bend, running like a cripple towards them.

"Beth!" Mika screamed, running towards her, dragging Lizzie with her, colliding with the girl as Carol walked towards them and handed the baby over.

There was a deep red stain reaching from the fork of Beth's legs to her knees, but Carol pushed it to the back of her mind after the initial panic of seeing it. They were all covered in blood these days; most of the time, it wasn't theirs.

And then she looked up and saw something that made her heart soar.

He staggered at the sight of them, the two guns and crossbow he was carrying falling into the gravel loudly, his knees wobbling. He stood and blinked at her, and she called out to him as she ran.

"Daryl!" She sobbed, leaping forward and engulfing him, felt the tears starting in her eyes and knew they would make him uncomfortable, but didn't care, not even a little bit.

He was here.

He had found her.

She fell into his arms in a heap, gathered his hair in her fingers and clutched him to her shoulder. Tried not to sob with relief.

_He's alive. He's alive. He's alive._

He brought his hands to her sides, wrapped them around her middle, and the fact that he was even touching her of his own volition was enough, and she was sobbing.

And judging by the sudden dampness on her collar bone, and the way his shoulders shook beneath her arms, she wasn't the only one.

And she knew, in that moment. She knew something was changing, had changed, something horrible or wonderful had happened and he wasn't quite the same anymore.

He smelled dirty, but it was Daryl-dirty, not regular-person-dirty, and there was absolutely a difference. Daryl-dirty reminded her of somfort and shared sleeping bags, days on the chopper with nothing but a couple wet wipes and a stick of deodorant to resemble hygiene.

Daryl-dirty reminded her of home.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he stuttered, scrunching her jacket in his fists and holding her so close she struggled to breathe.

She sighed, let him support her a little.

Oh, yes. Something was different.

"I didn't," she breathed. "I knew you'd find me." _Again._

He laughed at that, his lips brushing against her clavicle, and her flesh broke out in goosebumps at the prickly sensation of his stubble and chapped lips rubbing against her skin.

And suddenly she needed to see him, needed to re-affirm in her mind that those eyes were here, alive. She wanted to know what he was thinking, wanted to see if his eyes were hooded with uncertainty or alight with joy.

She brought her hands around to cup his cheeks, pushed him up slightly so that he faced her. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, looking at her like she were the sun itself.

She struggled to keep her breaths even, decided instead to try something new.

She leaned her forehead on his and closed her eyes, breathed him in and held her breath as he slowly dragged his hands from her back to her hair, anchoring her to him.

It felt so _right,_ so _good, _and all she wanted to was stay here with him, hold him and smell him and _be with him…_

But then he stiffened.

She didn't open her eyes, hoped he wasn't freaking out, wasn't about to drop her head and take off into the woods to do manly things. Prayed she hadn't overstepped.

But instead, he waited. Whispered fiercely to her.

"_Carol._"

His tone was not loving, not romantic, not moody or irritated. It was _scared._

Her eyes flew open, and she immediately jerked her head back so she could see him clearly.

His eyebrows were drawn in and he was staring past her, playing ping-pong with his eyes, volleying them back and forth between her and the girls behind her.

_Did he know about Lizzie?_

_Did she do something before?_

But that wasn't it.

"That's Beth's blood," he murmured quickly, eyes searching hers. "That's her blood."

She felt her eyes widen and her breath hitch, panic rising in her gut as the possibilities hit her like gunfire, one after the over, coming in Hershel's voice.

_Miscarriage._

_Ruptured ectopic miscarriage._

_Cancer._

_Hemophilia._

Maybe it was just a heavy period. Maybe that was all.

But then she remembered the way Beth had run, like a newborn giraffe, limping as if every step hurt.

She turned quickly, knew she had to take control of the situation, stay calm, be of use.

"Tyreese," she called softly, looking at the big man from where he stood by the girls, smiling down sweetly at their four-person hug. He looked up at her, and she made a face at him, immediately let her calm demeanor slip for a second to get his attention. She rotated her hand quickly in a come-here motion, turning back slightly and waiting for him to approach.

When he did, she looked him in the eye. "I need you to go get some more water from the river," she whispered urgently. "Beth's sick, something's wrong, and she needs clean water."

His brow lowered and he nodded solemnly. "Sure thing. Do you want me to go ahead and take a peek at that camp, see if there's anything we could use?"

She contemplated it. When he had come back the night before with sloshing pots, he had mentioned that there was a small camp, trailers and tents and the like, just across the river bank, and that it looked like no one was there any more.

But she didn't know how deep the river was, didn't know what lurked in its depths. Most importantly, didn't know what waited in that camp.

So she shook her head slowly. "…No. I don't know if we have the time. But I want you to bring Mika with you. I don't… I don't want her seeing Beth like this. She's too little."

Lies. She didn't want Lizzie going with him, didn't trust her not to get them both killed.

But he bought it, seemed to understand and nodded, turned back to the girls and called Mika to him. She extricated herself from Beth and her sister, and after plucking up the pots, they left.

She watched them go, waited until they were far away before she sighed and took Daryl's hand in hers.

She reached behind her and took his hand certainly, feeling his strength ebb to her and knowing she could do this, she could try, she could try her damndest to figure this out.

She led him towards the girls, felt her lip curl at Lizzie's dead-eyed stance above Beth and Judith, tried to eliminate it from her face as quickly as possible.

"Lizzie," she commanded. The girl's gaze flew up to meet her own, and suddenly those eyes weren't so dead, and she smiled even as her hand rested on her knife.

Carol made herself smile. "Can you go walk the perimeter, sweetie? Just make sure nothing gets close."

The girl nodded, and Carol had to strain against flying at her as she shot a murderous glance at the baby in Beth's arms.

_Murderous. _Poor choice of words.

But she walked away.

Carol forced her breaths to stay even, forced her mind away from the lesser problem at the moment.

Beth needed her. Beth needed her more than Lizzie did.

She squatted before her, saw the way her eyes were squeezed shut, little teardrops leaking from behind dirty eyelids, her hair loose and stuck to her sweaty face.

"Sweetheart?" she murmured softly, brushing aside the baby fluffs of blonde hair that collected at her brow. "Beth?"

Her eyes opened slowly, exhausted, and Carol's heart ached for her, ached for the pain that was simmering just beneath the girl's eyes; whether physical or emotional, she didn't really know. Probably a lot of both.

Judith was still clutched to her chest, but Beth slowly relinquished her into Carol's open arms

. She was a smart girl. She knew why Carol was crouched beside her.

She turned slightly to hand the child to Daryl, who, for his part, looked equal parts uncomfortable and nervous. He took her with ease, immediately settling into a slow rhythm of bouncing her as she started to whine for Beth again, eventually leaving her barely awake, resting against his breastbone with her fingers in her mouth.

_God._

There was nothing sexier than a big man holding a tiny baby.

She quickly averted her eyes back to Beth, but when he still stood there, she flicked them back up to him in slight annoyance. Annoyance that he was being dense and annoyance that she was acting like a teenager.

Worse than a teenager, really. Beth seemed completely unaffected with the sight of the man holding the child.

Maybe it was just her.

He got the hint, though, turned to walk back to the weapons briskly.

"How long have you been bleeding?" Carol whispered quickly to the girl, wiping some more hair from her eyes as the girl sighed and seemed to tremble.

She swallowed, her chin quivering, and wiped some tears and sweat from her face.

She took a breath, and Carol waited.

"Last night, I think," she breathed, her voice catching at the end as her face contorted.

The older woman stroked her arms softly. "And you're not on your period?"

Beth looked at her incredulously, her face screwing up into her best what-the-hell look, and shook her head vigorously. "You think I'd be crying over my period?" she quipped quickly.

Carol spared her a half-smile, mentally kicking herself for even asking.

She needed things. She needed things from her bag, but Beth had a death grip on her hands, and the way the girl was acting, she knew she as fragile at best.

Daryl was coming back, but he made to walk right past her, so she shot out her hand to keep him from going any further.

She looked up at him slowly, let her eyes linger on his for a couple seconds. She swallowed.

"I need some things out of my backpack, and Judith's diaper bag. Can you stay with her, while I go?"

His weight shifted to his other leg, and the look on his face was pure anxiety, but after a second he nodded uncertainly.

She tried a smile and thanked him, headed over to her pack.

Wipes. Towel. New pants and a pad. Sleeping bag, arnica, raspberry leaves, and chlorophyll. Water.

Ana had been prepared.

She came back, her arms overfilled, to see Beth's knees pulled up to her chest, her body convulsing slightly.

And, she supposed, a part of her knew at that point, what was happening.

But the weaker part of her wanted to make sure, rule everything else out, before she bothered to say anything.

Daryl was watching her uncomfortably, and there was a horrible, pinched look on his face as his lips twitched uncertainly.

She waited for him to look her in the eye. "I need you to help me, Daryl," she murmured, putting all her fear and worry into those words, letting them out like a plea.

He managed to look even more awkward at that, if it were possible. "Why don't I give Judy to Lizzie, and she can help while I keep watch?"

She felt something cold stir in her, and she knew she needed to tell him. If no one else, she needed to tell Daryl.

She didn't want to, though. She wanted to protect her like she was protecting Carl.

She rolled out the sleeping bag violently snapping it and laying it on the gravel. She quickly turned and stood, laid her hands on his jaw and leaned in to his ear.

"_Do not, _under any circumstances, _ever, _let Lizzie hold Judith. Don't leave her alone with her. Don't turn your back on her. Do not let her near the baby."

She felt a weight lift with each whispered word, but she had to be sure he knew, that he wouldn't do anything stupid.

She pulled back and the look on his face clued her in to how horrible the situation r_eally _was. Daryl was a lot of things, and he had seen a lot of things. Horror was not one of the faces he wore on a regular basis.

But he looked totally, one-hundred percent horrified.

He nodded quickly, though, almost too quickly, and so she watched him for a second, but that horrified look was still there, so she turned again to Beth.

She helped her scoot over onto the slippery red material and fished around her pile, plucking up what she needed.

She popped open the Ziploc bag of leaves and pulled one out.

"I found a car a couple hippies had been living in," she said to both of them with a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little. "Enough medicinal herbs to give Marley a heart attack."

Beth spared her a pitiful smile and opened her mouth as she placed the little dried leaf on her tongue.

"It's called arnica," she explained softly, zipping the bag up smoothly and laying it to her side for future use. "It'll help with your pain. Suck on it until you can't taste it anymore, and then chew it up and swallow it."

Beth nodded her head soberly, her little lips puckering.

She took a breath, and then she worked on the girl's boots and socks, and then her pants, pulling them off slowly so as to not jar her.

Beth flicked her eyes to her left and Carol patted her calf gently as she saw Daryl standing resolute, his back to them, walking in a slow circle, never turning around.

She seemed to relax at that, which Carol was thankful for. At least she had been right in sending Ty away; if Beth was this uncomfortable around Daryl, who had seen and been seen more times than she cared to remember over that hard winter, then she knew the girl would have been absolutely mortified to have Tyreese see her.

Which just meant this had to go fast, because they were due back any minute.

When she couldn't see anything but blood and clots and mysterious clumps of goo, she knew she needed to examine her, and told her so as she squirted hand sanitizer on her palms and arms.

She knew what she would feel. She knew it but she couldn't bring herself to say it until she was absolutely, without a shadow of the doubt certain.

She let the breath escape her in a gust of air and pulled her hand away quickly, wiping it on the towel and throwing it over the girl.

"How far along are you?" she asked bluntly, no room for nonsense.

No room for nonsense.

She had to help her, had to keep her alive, had to save her.

But what if the baby turned, had already turned? What would they do? What _could _they do?

_They. _Ha. This was all her, one hundred percent her responsibility now. Beth had been like a daughter to her, and she was going to bring her back to her father. She was. She was going to deliver her, healthy, to her papa, and everything would be alright.

_Everything was going to be alright._

"I didn't know," she hiccupped, her voice soft and high pitched with tears. Carol saw her eyes flick over to Daryl, who was staring like his eyes were about to roll right out of his head. "I thought… I don't know." She took a deep breath and groaned, brought her hands up to her face, starting breathing fast and Carol's heart ached for her. She leaned forward to stroke her face, sshing her softly.

"I know, sweetie, I know. Just try and calm down. Try not to be too loud."

Beth let her hands drop to her little belly and nodded, let her tears fall and dry where they rested, her face screwed up and her eyes pained.

"I should have told him," she whispered. "I didn't know for sure, but I should have told him."

Carol reached forward, clutched her hand and waited. "You have to think, sweetheart. When did you and Zach get together?"

Beth smiled at his name, and Carol was really struck by how this girl had been given no time to grieve, and already she was losing the boy's child.

The world was a cruel, cruel place.

Beth wiped the freely streaming tears from her face. "Maybe a month. Month and a half."

She sighed with relief and patted her hand softly, closing her eyes and breathing deep. A blessing. A small blessing.

_A person is a person, no matter how small._

She felt herself smile at the quote from one of Sophia's favorite books, but it fell quickly. People turn when they die.

"This will be easy then," she murmured, still stroking her hand. "You're not too far along, so the…the embryo…it's small." She swallowed quickly and tried not to avert her eyes. Maybe if they didn't call it a baby, it would be easier on her. Maybe if she kept her emotions at bay, didn't dwell on all the babies she had lost after fist fights with the devil, Beth would be able to get through this better than she had those years ago.

Daryl still stood, with Judith and the weapons in his arms, watching Beth with a face of such pain, she knew exactly what he was thinking. He had always had a problem with guilt, she knew that, saw it in his face anytime Sophia's or Merle's names came up. And she knew him and Zach had had a disjointed sort of big brother-little brother relationship. He had told her how Zach had died, walkers chewing him as the helicopter fell through the ceiling to crush him.

She knew what he was thinking.

But Beth was her concern right now.

Beth let out a broken sob. "I didn't mean to lose it," she choked out, searching Carol's eyes with guilt and grief, pleading. "I didn't want to. I wanted to have it. I didn't… I didn't wish this."

Carol leaned forward and took the blue eyes girls in her arms, whispered in her ear as she cried and cried, sobbing for Zach and her mama and her daddy.

And in a way, in a small part of her mind, it dawned on her that Hershel had not made it out.

A dart of pain stabbed through her core, but she absorbed it, it became her, and she breathed deep and it was an iron rod of strength within her.

Beth was hers now.

She would take care of his girl right along with her other charges, like she were her own. She owed it to Hershel.

And so she wiped her face secretly as Beth cried into her neck.

**wWw**

**AN #2: Dang. This is the biggest chapter I've ever written.**

**If you're confused about Beth and want to know what her and Daryl have been up to these past days, I suggest skidaddling on over to my story Everything Was Gone to fill in the gaps. ;)**

**Also, guys, I have a confession. This story… Is proving very difficult for me to write. I fear I'm being too repetitive, as it is virtually the same story as EWG. So I need y'all's honest opinion on this. Don't try to keep from hurting my feelings. Be blunt as sin.**

**Do you want me to continue this?**

**I started this because in several chapters of EWG, Carol's POV would be greatly needed. I have to have endgame, at least, in Carol's POV as well as Daryl's, so there will definitely be that, as well as a couple other EWG chapters.**

**So my question to y'all: Do you want this story to be completely parallel to EWG, that is, have the whole story from Carol's POV too, or would y'all rather just have the important chapters?**

**Let me know! I've been playing around with this notion for a while, and need some feedback. **

**I love you all so very much and your support means so much to me! Much love and hugs! :3**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN #1: Thank you everyone who gave input on my little identity crisis at the end of the last chapter… For the time being, I'll continue to write the story from Carol's POV, but it will be abridged a little. Not so much that it won't make sense, just enough that I can manage writing it without wanting to tear my hair out.**

**Okay! Let's get on with it. ;)**

**WwW**

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful.

After Tyreese had gotten back with Lizzie, she had set to work getting Beth cleaned up and comfortable, setting her up on the sleeping bag with a hot water bottle over her stomach and some more arnica, and the rest of the herbs she had picked out of her magical backpack.

Tyreese had been sending her questioning looks from the moment he got back, but she wasn't sure Beth would want her to tell him.

She wasn't really sure about anything, if she was going to be honest with herself.

If Beth was losing the baby, would she need to think a way to induce it to keep the child from turning? But even if the child _were _to turn, it had no teeth. Its little fingernails were still molded to its fingertips. Could the baby harm her?

It didn't matter, anyway. She wasn't trained in performing abortions. She didn't have anything to induce labor, not there was much to be labored for at this stage of development.

Truth be told, it would be so much easier to just forget about it, ignore it, pretend there wasn't a little orphan girl just a couple feet from her who was losing the last tie to her boyfriend in the most horrible way imaginable.

Beth had asked her if there would be anyway to know the sex, when it came out, and she honestly didn't know. But she understood. She understood more than any other woman of their group could, what it was like to need to know as much as possible about a lost baby.

But after Beth had settled down, she knew she would have to join the men at the fire. Which meant she would have to tell Tyreese.

She would just have to keep her emotions at bay. Be cold and factual. She wouldn't let her empathy, sympathy, overtake her.

She would be strong for Beth.

She heard Tyreese praising Daryl with the child from where she was, but it wasn't until she sat down next to them to put her things back in her pack that she saw how red Daryl was getting at his words.

She let herself smile big at the man as he held the perfectly content little baby.

"Daryl has always had a way with that baby…" she chirped, not daring to look up and face the glare that she knew would be awaiting her.

He didn't say anything, but Tyreese muttered a light "you ain't kidding".

She set to work filling the water bottles and canteens from the pot on the fire, trying not to burn herself on the slightly cooled liquid. She could feel Daryl boring holes into the back of her head, but she didn't want to turn and catch him. Didn't want to make things awkward for him.

_Awkward for him. _Ha. Daryl didn't seem to _do _awkward anymore. That seemed to be all on her now.

He coughed though, sending her hurtling from her thoughts as her head whipped around.

"What you doing hitchhiking with gumbo pots?" he asked coyly, nodding his head to the pot she was filling the vessels from.

She chuckled at that, and shrugged, suddenly wracking her brain to remember the story she had told Tyreese. She had told him she was driving from the prison, right?

"I wasn't hitchhiking," she edged, letting a small smile remain on her face. "I told you I found a hippie's car. I found a couple suitcases filled with clothes, a couple pots, some other supplies. Lots of drugs." She swallowed. "I was driving…away from the prison… when I heard screaming."

Which wasn't a lie, not really. The route she had taken was going away from the prison. And she had stopped when she had heard screaming.

_Screaming I thought was you._

But it wasn't. It hadn't been him.

"She saved us," Mika ad-libbed, a cheeky grin spreading across her chubby little face as she looked at Carol like she were the sun. "Me and Lizzie and Judith were surrounded, and she killed them all."

_Lizzie and Judith._

_Not all of them, Mika. I didn't kill _all _of the monsters._

She shook her head a little, tucked those bad thoughts into a dusty corner of her mind and gave Mika her best mama-look she had. "There weren't _that _many," she chided.

"Yeah huh!" Mika argued, her bright face flashing from her to Daryl, who was watching the exchange attentively. "There were, like, at least six. And you didn't even use your gun!"

Daryl was staring at her then, and she felt herself blush. She shook her head, trying to keep the prideful grin from surfacing.

But it was true. She had killed six walkers without shooting any of them.

"No, I didn't," she tried, watching the little blonde-haired girl. "Should've, though. Would have been much smarter."

And then she felt her eyes go to Lizzie, back facing her and rigid, her hand on her knife.

Did she even remember it? Any of it? Did she remember trying to kill the baby she had been entrusted with, leaving her knife and gun in their sheath and holster while she worked on her task at hand?

By the way she was acting, she was fairly certain she _had _to remember. She had to have some recollection.

And she didn't know if it were better or worse that way, that her murder attempt was something she remembered and didn't show remorse for, or that she didn't remember it and thus had no reason to feel remorse.

It wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

She saw Daryl watching her then, and knew she should carry on before he could ask her a question about her, too.

"But I rescued the wrong people," she murmured. And so she softly recounted the story of the man and the dying boy, their lifeblood pumping from their veins as they begged them not to make the same mistakes they had.

Daryl nodded at the end. "So you went back to get your stuff."

She nodded, stuffing the last bag of herbs into the outermost pocket of her pack, turning her head over her shoulder to ask Beth how she was doing.

Beth mumbled something that resembled a "yes".

Daryl was still sitting in the dirt, the child between his legs, pulling rocks away from her mouth as she reached out to taste them.

"…So why did you stop here?" he asked finally.

She let her best poker face slide into place, and shrugged her shoulders.

_For you._

"The girls needed to rest. So did we."

He just stared at her, and she realized she needed to amend that story, add a little something else. He knew she was withholding something.

_Terminus. Say something about how you're worried about Terminus._

There were plenty a hole in that reason for camping out in open air at this particular spot, but maybe he'd buy it. It was reason number two, after all.

"…and it doesn't really sit well with me."

He watched her imploringly, so she lifted her head and squinted, tried to think up the best way to voice the concerns she hadn't so much as whispered to Tyreese.

She swatted a buzzing insect from her face and sighed.

"The map. To that Terminus, Sanctuary place? The only way to get there is by the tracks. Which means the only way to get there is on foot, vulnerable. It doesn't sit well with me. The sign made it seem like they were eager for inhabitants, but yesterday was a long day, and we're not even close. Why aren't there tents, packs of water, backpacks of supplies along the way? It just doesn't make sense."

She had watched in quiet awe as Daryl and Ty's eyes grew to the size of saucers from her words, the worries obviously dawning on them for the first time.

Tyreese spoke first, shaking his head as he poked the fire. "We can't keep going, then," he stated simply, glancing up worriedly. "We can't risk it."

She shook her head as Daryl nodded. They couldn't.

Daryl looked to her then. "I guess we make our way back to one of the evac houses, then?" he said carefully.

And then she knew. She knew he had been told, and a fire smoldered in her gut as she wondered how many people Rick had slandered her to.

But in a way, it was her fault. She had falsely confessed to a crime she had not committed.

Would Rick welcome her back if they met him at one of the evac houses? If he were still alive?

She nodded, letting her eyes drift to where Lizzie and Mika stood, keeping watch, murmuring to each other lightly. Lizzie couldn't be trusted anywhere near Judith.

And if Rick found out what Lizzie had attempted. If _Carl _found out?

Lizzie would be dead that night.

_Maybe that's for the best._

_Maybe that's what needs to happen._

But she had made a promise. She had made a promise.

Tyreese spoke up first, the night chill slowly seeping into their little camp, the sun's rays dying beneath the trees.

"Is someone going to tell me what's wrong with Beth?"

Carol swallowed tightly. Daryl was staring at the ground, and she knew he felt guilty, thought he was responsible for some reason. He was always shouldering the guilt that no one else seemed able to carry; Sophia, Merle, Dale, Zach, and now probably Hershel and Beth's baby, all loads that no one else seemed worthy enough to carry.

And so she answered him. "She's having a miscarriage.," she breathed, looking over her shoulder to the sleeping girl. "I think it was probably the stress of the losing the prison, getting separated from her family. Could have been over-exertion. Or really anything at all."

Tyreese's look of complete shock quickly amended itself, eyebrows furrowing, eyes solid and strong, mouth set in a hard line.

"She's a tough girl, though." She added, watching Tyreese to try and convey her message.

She flicked to Daryl then, watching her from the corners of his eyes.

"She'll make it through."

Tyreese nodded quickly. "I should have known. Back at our first camp, there was a woman, she was pretty far along."

Carol watched him, waited in sick horror to see where this story led.

He took a deep breath and continued. "Walker got her husband, and she was so upset she miscarried. That was before we knew that, well, you didn't have to be bit to turn. She held that tiny little thing all day and all night. Sasha and some other old lady finally got her to let them bury it."

She felt herself holding her breath, holding onto the tiny speck of hope, good news, that he had just given her.

"So… It didn't turn," she intoned slowly.

Tyreese shook his head sadly, looked back at Beth and sighed. "Plenty of time to, too. Guess whatever it is that makes you come back, you don't get it until you breathe it in."

She felt herself come a little undone at that, felt a ball of tension burst deep in her chest, and breathed. She leaned back on her palms and crossed her ankles, looked back at Beth and offered silent thanks as she counted the girl's breaths.

"I was worried about that," she whispered. "Thank you."

She heard him make a sound of affirmation, turned back and let her eyes drift to Judith, happily palming pebbles and clumps of quartz, trying to shove them in her mouth as Daryl deftly pushed them away.

"Poor girl's been through enough. At least she don't have to go through that, too."

She felt herself nod in time with Daryl, thoughts on her old friend and what she would have done to keep the baby before them alive and well.

**wWw**

She took first watch that night.

Daryl had put up a bit of an argument, but when Beth quickly interjected that he had slept maybe fifteen minutes, total, in the past two days, he shut up and took his place on the edge of the sleeping bag, Judith between him and Tyreese as she watched.

He wasn't sleeping. He had to be downright exhausted, but he wasn't sleeping.

Carol had situated them very carefully, Mika on the edge with Beth between her and Lizzie, Tyreese between Lizzie and Judith.

That way, when she went to go to sleep on Tyreese's watch, she would still be able to have the girl close to her, to watch her, in case she pulled something.

_Pulled something._

And that night, when she settled herself down and saw that he still wasn't sleeping, was still watching her, even reached out to stop her when she deftly flipped Judith onto her back for safety, she felt something rise within her, and she was tired of skipping around him and watching her words and retracting her fingers at the last second.

She was tired of it.

And maybe, just maybe, he was tired of it, too.

And so, when he had lowered his face to rest on his arm in guilt, sorrow written all over his face and embedded in the tension of his muscles, she reached forward, eyes closed, and rubbed small circles along his spine.

He stiffened at first, but she kept on, squeezed her eyes shut tighter so that she couldn't see rejection in his eyes.

Her fingers trailed the ropy scars beneath his shirt, and something in her wanted to trace them, to run her fingers down them like dotted lines on a treasure map, but each time she caught herself doing something so intimate, she righted herself into that infinite circle.

And then he was relaxing, his breathing even, and she sighed, her mission accomplished.

He was asleep.

**WwW**

**AN #2: I'd love to hear what you think! **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN #1: Oh gosh, guys. It's been a while, and I am so so sorry. This time of year is always crazy. I'll try and be more consistent!**

**WwW**

They left at dawn.

Carol secretly loved the way Daryl held Judith, how he was so very paternal and loving with her. She loved catching him cooing at her and being rewarded with a scowl. She loved when she wasn't caught and that sweet expression stayed on his face.

It warmed her heart, to see a man love a little girl in all the right ways and none of the wrong ones.

And so it happened that she became the protector of her girls and the two men, Tyreese loaded down with Beth and a rifle, and Daryl with the baby, his bow, and the diaper bag. God forbid they get separated, but if it did happen, whoever had Judith needed to have the formula and the diapers, too.

They had done significantly well so far; Judith had not attracted any walkers, at all. They were making good time. Mostly in good spirits.

It was nearing sunset. Judith was sleeping soundly, finally. The girls were laughing about something, playing I-spy quietly.

The land was still leveled out, so when the trees started rustling, she knew time was not on her side. She thrust out her arms to block the girls behind her, silencing them immediately.

Its hisses were high-pitched, the leaves on the dying trees swaying chaotically as it shuffled towards them.

She looked back at Daryl, saw the conflict in his eyes as he shifted the baby higher on his shoulder, arms loaded down. She knew he didn't like seeing her on the front lines, but even if this was the first walker he would see her put down that day, didn't mean it was the first for her, by far. She knew the drill.

She nodded her head to him.

He understood immediately, balancing the girl in one arm to reach forward and tap Mika on the shoulder. She watched carefully as Mika took her sister's hand and then walked back with them to the rail.

It was nothing new. She had done this countless times.

But something felt different.

She swallowed, and waited.

The brush was thick, and whatever was moving was doing so slowly, clumsily, and so she braced herself, tightened her hand around the steel knuckled hilt, chewed her lip and breathed deep.

And then she wasn't waiting, he was right there, curly brown hair and eyes bloodshot and glazed, and his mouth was clogged with blood and flesh and it wasn't like Sophia, but it was just like Sophia, because there was crying and yelling and _she wanted to look away she wanted to look away she didn't want to look._

She saw him inch closer, but it wasn't him and it was him and she couldn't do it, she dropped her knife because she couldn't do it and everyone was crying and depending on her _but she couldn't do it she couldn't do Luke like Sam she couldn't do Luke like Ryan she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't._

"_CAROL!"_

Loud, he was so loud, something was even more wrong and she turned, his face full of panic and a fear she hadn't seen there ever, and she knew she was too slow, but maybe this was it and maybe this had to be it because she couldn't do it, she couldn't be strong, she couldn't be brave, she couldn't.

She could feel his hot breath closing in on her outstretched hand, the one with Sophia's hair tie on it.

_Do it._

_Go ahead, baby._

_It's okay._

The knife was too far away, anyway, cast aside at her feet.

**wWw**

He fell in a heap, green feathers poking out with those mousy curls.

She had failed him.

She had failed him.

She couldn't save him.

It had all been for nothing. Story Time hadn't worked. Patrick was dead; she couldn't save him. Luke was dead now. Who knew where Carl was. Or Molly.

Sophia was gone.

She could hear Mika crying, Beth hushing her, and Tyreese hushing them both. Lizzie was mumbling something in a mean voice, and she didn't want to know what she was saying, didn't want to see the little girl have no sadness about the death of one of her only friends left in the world.

All she could do was stare at the little boy, his mouth filled with someone else's blood, nails torn away, a clear gunshot wound to his chest.

She deserved to be cast out. She deserved it. She deserved this.

Someone came up behind her and held her, and she recognized that smell, heady and musky with oil and tobacco. She recognized it and knew Daryl was there, could hear him muttering frantically to himself and breathing deep, but she didn't care, not really, this was her lot in life and she almost felt like she should have let Luke take her, just like she should have let Sophia take her.

Judith was hiccupping sadly by her head, and she looked down at the boy again.

"I…I couldn't do it…"

She could hear the words, could feel them leaving her lips, but she wasn't sure why she was talking, why she was saying this to Daryl.

"I couldn't," she went on quietly. "I couldn't."

"Ssh," he whispered, shuddering against her.

Was he scared? Had she scared him?

And then she felt it, not light, not hard, right against her temple. His lips, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Daryl to be putting his lips on her.

_Everybody changes._

And then she was back. Everything was rushing around her all of a sudden, and Lizzie was there, and Lizzie needed her, and Mika was there, and Mika needed her, and Beth needed her, and Judith was there, too, and she had promised.

_She had promised._

She had to try harder, for them. For all of them.

Daryl retrieved her knife and she sheathed it absentmindedly, watching as Mika and Beth held each other in the gravel, Beth's face strong and determined while Mika sniffled miserable.

Tyreese offered to go back and get Daryl's arrow for him, but in the way he clenched his jaw and shook his head, propping Judith up higher and looking away, she knew how he felt. She knew how he felt because she felt the same.

The girls were up then with Tyreese's help, and the way Lizzie was glaring at her again, the way Mika was trying so very hard not to cry, she almost didn't feel bad when she shrugged him off, straightening on her own.

"I can walk, Daryl," she had whispered, hating the fragility in her voice. "I need to take care of my girls."

She hated how he looked in that moment, all coiled anxiety and fear and guilt, and all she wanted to do was get away, leave the little boy behind, get to the safe house and get the girls cleaned up and in a bed.

But where she was weak, Daryl was strong. She saw him go back for his bow, and when he marched forward again, Judith mostly calmed down, she looked back and saw the little boy turned over, his eyes shut, his arms and legs at the right angles, nice and straight, and she knew what he had done.

He didn't say anything more, so neither did she.

**WwW**

They didn't say much after that.

Judith was getting louder, and she knew it was because she was teething. Knew the likelihood of there being any Orajel in the diaper bag slim to none.

But she also knew that the walkers were coming more and more frequently.

At least now, the land had gone back up to slopes, so when the walkers tumbled head first down them, they fell hard, and she was able to take care of them before they even got up.

She tried to hush Mika most of the walk, whispered to her about a heaven she wasn't sure she believed in anymore, promised her lies about a future she knew she couldn't deliver.

Lizzie didn't need her promises. She didn't know what Lizzie needed, but it wasn't this.

Lizzie didn't like her killing the walkers. Glared at her every time she did, would huff a little when she came back. She sent horrible looks at the crying baby and Daryl, and after what seemed to be the tenth walker in twenty minutes, she sheathed her knife with finality, marched over, snatched the kid, and looked through that whole damn bag until she found one half-filled tube of the liquid gold.

She thought she should probably care about germs as she rubbed the stuff all over the inside of her mouth, thought that she should probably care that she had more walker blood on her than skin, but she couldn't make it matter to herself. Especially not when Judith stopped her crying, and with her crying, the walkers stopped, too.

She made herself take Lizzie's hand as she walked back ahead, made herself take Mika's, too, and then they were walking again, and she swung their arms and plastered a smile on her face and promised herself that she would not let anyone else down, she would protect them and she would be whatever each of them needed. She would. She wouldn't fail them like she had failed Luke.

He was the last one.

**wWw**

**AN #2: Thanks for reading! Drop me a line if you feel up to it. : )**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN #1: I have about as much free time in my life right now as Jesus in a leper colony. Thank you everyone for your kind reviews! : ) **

**WwW**

They reached the house at dusk.

It was quiet out, but that didn't mean anything. Not really. The gate was locked, though.

Her palms were damp as she hefted Lizzie over the top to flip the latch, her throat dry and her mind blank and flying all at the same time, not lasting on one thought for long at all.

But if Rick was there? If anyone else besides Rick was there? If he had told Daryl, he could have told everyone else. Everyone.

But then Lizzie opened the gate lazily, and the curtains were still drawn, no ruts in the relatively smooth dirt driveway. Maybe no one else was here. Maybe they were it.

She squelched the thought the second it entered her mind. How could she think like that? How could she dare even consider that? Hope for it? Luke was dead. The children had been quarantined together, so that meant Molly and Carl could have been with him, could have been his virgin victims.

She shuddered at the thought, the image of the little boy attacking his friends and ending their lives. Carl, she could see taking care of things. Easily. But Molly? Molly was just a little girl.

She wouldn't think of it anymore, couldn't, squirreled it away into the deepest recesses of her mind.

_It wouldn't happen again._

She knew for certain when she retrieved the key, though, that no one was here, and given the proximity to where Luke had found them, a small grain of exhaustion and hopelessness planted itself in her as she accepted that anyone who had been with him would be dead, too. Dead from his bite, or dead from a more properly placed bullet wound.

People didn't let little boys turn, children. You didn't do that. Not decent people.

She opened the door and almost sighed at the pack of diapers and wipes, the boxes of granola bars and canteens, right where, she was sure, Rick or Daryl or Maggie had placed them.

She went through the house, double-checking doors and windows for things that could not possibly have gotten in, making sure locks and deadbolts were in place and blinds all drawn.

When she made her way back to the living room, Judith was sitting up, occasionally scooting around in awe, and the realization struck her that the baby had never seen such luxuries as windows and couches, carpets and color. All she had ever known was concrete and gray walls, barred windows that let in more draft than light. Judith had never known what a house looked like, maybe would never truly understand what it was like to have someplace to call her own.

Judith cracked a gummy grin at her from the floor, curling her toes and giggling as she did.

She may not know those things, maybe not ever, but that didn't mean she had to be unhappy. The girl was happy now, and that was all that mattered. She was happy, and she was safe. She wasn't hungry, and she was about to experience her first sink bath, given the small house's pump and well were still intact.

She smiled to herself and set to ushering the girls into the bathrooms, taking their clothes and throwing them into a pile and handing them the generic children's clothes from a very pink back bedroom that probably would be too big on Mika and too small on Lizzie.

By the rise of the moon, everyone was wearing fresh - if ill-fitting - clothes, and Beth and Tyreese had crashed on the couches.

Judith smelled sweet when Carol handed the child to Daryl and smiled softly. He gifted her with a soft half-grin and took the baby and a bottle into a back bedroom.

She followed him with Mika and Lizzie, noting his stiff back beneath the baggy cotton t-shirt, much too large and much too metro for his taste, she knew.

But the sight of a t-shirt on his back...a baby on his shoulder...it made her smile. Made her hope for better days, with a different baby, perhaps, and of tighter shirts.

But then the door was shut, and she had the decency to blush in the dim moonlight as she ushered the girls into bed.

"Tell us a story, Carol," Mika had murmured, her arms wrapped around her guardian, her little body sandwiched between her and Lizzie.

Lizzie's eyes shot open, and she squeezed their hands and nodded, coughed quietly to herself and started.

Each story was the same, to her. All stories she had recited night after night to Sophia, bland fairytales of princesses and princes, dragons and witches.

"Tell us a real story," Lizzie whispered after the sixth or seventh story, her eyes fluttering. "Please."

Something about holding her two girls with her in a warm bed helped her realize just how much they were hers. These girls weren't orphans. They were _hers_. _She_ was their mother.

And just like her mama had told her of her brave brother years after he had run away, she would tell them about their sister that had run away.

She swallowed deep.

"Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a little girl with bright blue eyes and honey blonde hair. She had freckles and she loved dolls and pink things, and her best friend in the world was a little boy we all know."

She paused. Their eyes were wide, now, blinking in rapt attention.

"One day, she was chased into the woods by a walker. She ran and ran, and a mean old hunter went chasing after her, day after day, night after night, until he found her."

"She changed, didn't she?" Lizzie whispered in quiet reverence.

Mika whipped her head on her sister. "Don't say that! This is a happy story!" She scolded fiercely, her hands tightening around her now-mother.

Carol somehow found the strength to squeeze the little girl's hand and lock eyes with her sister. "No, Mika, she's right," she murmured softly. "This is a real story. It's not happy."

Mika gasped and Lizzie offered up a quiet "I knew it".

They lay in silence for a couple seconds.

"Did the walker get her? Or was it the mean old hunter?" Mika breathed.

"Oh honey," Carol started, running her hands quickly through the little girl's hair and breathing in the scent of shampoo. "It was the walker. The hunter tried to find her."

Lizzie thumbed Carol's hand, then rolled onto her back.

"What was her name?" she whispered.

Carol felt herself breathe deep, taking in as much gaseous strength as humanly possible.

"Her name was Sophia. She was my daughter."

Then Mika really did gasp, rolling over to put a little, chubby hand to her cheek. Lizzie stared at the ceiling like she had known it all along.

Carol offered up a sad half-smile and patted them both lovingly.

"Let's get to bed, girls."

Mika nodded to her and rolled over.

"Me first tonight, Lizzie," she whispered softly.

Lizzie grunted, and Carol wondered at what she meant.

And then the little girl squeezed her little eyes shut and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Please God, help us find Molly and Carl and everyone else. Keep us safe and take care of Sophia. Amen."

Carol almost choked when the words tumbled from the girl's mouth with a sigh. Lizzie went next, saying almost exactly the same thing, and then Mika elbowed her in the stomach lightly.

"Your turn," she yawned.

She felt herself reaching to the hollow where her old cross had rested, the anchor to her old life and a faith that had failed her.

But could she really say faith had failed her? Could she honestly blame what had happened on anyone but herself?

And here she was, with two new daughters. No replacement for the one she lost, but almost recompense. A consolatory gift.

And now she had Daryl.

So even if she couldn't forgive her faith, she knew she couldn't very well blame it either.

And so she closed her eyes and prayed to a God she hadn't offered anything but curses to for what seemed like a lifetime.

**wWw****  
**  
Thirty minutes later, they were asleep. And she was not.

She tossed and turned, her mind racing, checking things off her never-ending list.

_Hang all the clothes up._ Check.

_Lock all doors_. Check.

_Draw all curtains._ Check.

_Make sure Beth was ok_. Check.

_Go help Daryl with the baby._

She almost sighed with relief with the extra item, something to do with her restless hands.

She slipped from the bed soundlessly and padded out the door into the hallway.

She cracked the door open slowly and peeked in.

Sure enough, Judith was on her back on the bed, pillows corralling her in place, while Daryl sat with his back to the mattress, staring at her with tired eyes.

She smiled softly at him and slid across the wood floors to the bed, climbed over him nimbly and settled herself beside the baby.

Judith breathed deep and tucked her fingers in her mouth.

She felt her lips quirk at her little blessings, of being able to love and care for her best friend's baby, of being in the same room as Daryl without him storming off.

He was obviously nervous, though. That much hadn't changed. She could feel how he had coiled even more into himself when she had climbed over him, how his hands twiddled with the hem of his shirt, how he worried his lip between his teeth.

She watched him tentatively as he let his head sink back against the mattress, felt her own lip find its place between her teeth as words tumbled from her mouth unbidden.

"Lizzie and Mika were kicking me," she felt herself whisper.

She watched him carefully as she said the words, almost scared that by speaking, by audibly voicing her presence, he would understand that she was staying here, sleeping here, and the spell would be broken, he would be back to the old Daryl and would run to sleep somewhere else uncomfortable and cold.

She didn't know when she had decided to sleep here. She really didn't.

But she was. She was going to sleep here, with Judith. And maybe, just maybe, he would stay, too.

He laughed nervously at her words, so she knew he was awkward. Felt her presence in this dark bedroom and knew what it could mean.

She supposed she should treat him like a scared dog; approach slowly, quietly, no sudden movements, not advancing too quickly.

And so she waited several minutes, and then tried a different tactic.

"I'm going to win, you know," she whispered, putting as much of a cocky grin into her words as humanly possible while shaking from stress.

She almost thought he wouldn't answer. Hoped he was asleep, if she was going to be honest with herself.

But he jumped at her words, as if he, too, had thought she was asleep. She felt the jolt on the mattress, felt it rise as his head lifted up, to try and look at her, she presumed.

She couldn't really see in the dark. She supposed that was a good thing.

"Win what?" He grouched. A year ago, she would have recoiled and silenced herself, fooled by the facade of irritation.

But, now? She had dealt with his emotions long enough to know when his anger was real and when it was simply a substitute for something else, like grief or anxiety, something he had never been allowed to feel.

And so she heard that faint hesitation before he answered, the overly gruff tone of his voice, overcompensating for what she could only guess was nerves. She heard and she smiled to herself sadly, tucked Judith in tighter to her.

"This war of attrition," she stated, business-like. "You're going to get too tired, or too uncomfortable, or you're going to see a spider and come crawling up here with your tail between your legs."

_Up here._ She cringed to herself, cursed the boldness the late hour had given her.

But he snorted at her, good-naturedly, for him at least. "I ain't afraid of no spiders," he answered, an edge of laughter in his voice.

And that, to her, was strange. That hint of laughter. Stranger than his angry tone earlier. Something wasn't right there.

She was missing something.

"Mm-hm," she went on anyway. "We'll see."

When he didn't answer, she knew he wasn't going to. Not for a long time, anyway. He was going to sleep there on the cold wood planks while she curled up in a bed too big to be cozy.

And so she sighed, and drifted off into a twilight sleep of shifting shadows and whispered lullabies, and a strong feeling that she was missing something, that she needed to look harder, she needed to listen and _look._

Her eyes creaked open lazily for the tenth time in half an hour, vision blurry, barely making out the soft dome of his head resting a foot from her knees.

He was breathing hard, letting out soft wimpers, his legs jerking and twisting in small, spasmodic ways.

She wanted to wake him more than anything in the world, wanted to take him into her arms and hush him and banish those bad thoughts, the bad dreams away.

But a part of her knew, if she did, things couldn't be the same. Wouldn't be, ever again. And she didn't know if that change, that difference, would be good or bad.

But then, just as quick, it was over. And it was almost worse.

He was hyperventilating, straightening quickly against the mattress and grasping the quilt between white knuckles, sucking in air like he might never breathe again, trembling so hard she could see his shoulders heaving from where she lied.

And she couldn't do it anymore, couldn't just watch him suffer.

She reached forward slowly, holding her breath as she put her small hand against his.

He jumped immediately, so she hushed him. She slowly unwound his fingers from the blanket and slipped hers in its place, reveled in the feel of his hand tightening around hers, grasping at her like a lifeline.

It gave her courage.

She tugged a little on his hand. It didn't take much before he was stumbling onto the mattress, laying face down on a pillow, never letting go of her.

He was still breathing so heavy, though, still shaking.

"It's okay," she whispered, trying to put as much calm and quiet and stability into her voice as possible. "It's alright. Everything's okay. You're here. It's okay."

He nodded, but she saw how his back was spasming, recognized the action from how many times she had sucked in the tears to keep Sophia from being scared.

And her hand moved on its own accord to his thin t-shirt, finding the scars from the other night, and the second she brushed her fingertips against the crooked X on his shoulder, he stiffened. And then he relaxed. And she knew she had done right.

She traced those scars, made up horrible stories for them in her head, imagined that she was taking all his fear and hate and sadness right from him as his breathing evened out, and she knew, from this easy in-out, that his dreams weren't like they were a few minutes ago.

She let her hand rest there as she forced herself to sleep.

**WwW**

**AN #2: Thank you so so much for reading! This story is flying by. For me, at least. ;D I know it might not be as quick coming for y'all. Leave me a line if you feel up to it! : )**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN #1: Hello guys. Thank you so much for your reviews! They mean so much to me. :]**

**WwW**

She supposed she should have been upset when she had awoken - yet again - alone.

But she couldn't quite make herself, not after the memory of the night before, of being able to lull him to sleep again with her hands. Of being able to touch him without him flinching.

She couldn't wipe the grin off her face, and the fact that it was just her and Judith in the bed when she woke did nothing to change that.

Beth and Tyreese were already up when she came to the kitchen, the girls still asleep in their room. She considered checking on them, but then thought better of it.

In all truth, she had a horrible, dark fear that she only prayed would not be turned true.

Lizzie had tried to kill Judith, a baby. Who was to say she wouldn't try - and succeed - the same with Mika?

She knew it was cowardly, also knew she was being a little bit ridiculous, but she couldn't make herself check on them. Just in case.

After all, the room was very, very quiet. Had been all night. That means things were okay, right?

She swallowed her thoughts and set to changing Judith's diaper at the kitchen table before setting her on the ground, taking the clothes she had washed in the kitchen sink down from the ceiling fans and folding them up.

She thought she should check on Beth, knew it was the right thing to do, but her face was actually bright as she watched the baby. She didn't limp when she dropped to the floor and produced a dingy baseball. Her eyes were clear and dry and her skin it's natural porcelain.

She was fine. She would be fine.

She jumped as a door, somewhere, creaked open. She couldn't stop herself from holding her breath, reaching for her knife as she stepped quickly in front of Beth and Judith.

What was her problem? Why was she acting like this? Everything was fine.

But still her heart pounded, sending blood soaring through her ears loudly, reverberating through her twitching fingertips.

A little hand peeked around the door.

"Carol...?" Beth sounded nervous, but she didn't care. Could only focus on rationing her breathing as she watched that pale little hand.

"Stoooop, Lizzie," Mika whined, creaking the door open and padding out in bright pink flannels, her hair tied back in a messy braid. Lizzie followed after her and poked her in the shoulder as she yawned.

She felt herself uncoil, but instead of relief she felt shame. She was ridiculous, stupid. Lizzie would never do that.

_Only she had._

She swallowed hard and set to packing the clothes and food with Tyreese while the girls ate breakfast and Beth played with Judy on the floor.

She was outside shoving backpacks into the trunk when he returned. Mika noted his arrival first with a soft sigh.

"Oh, good. Look Carol, he's back," she had breathed with a little smile.

Carol hadn't been able to quell the desire to grin, but it had quickly fallen when she caught sight of him. He was covered in blood, absolutely drenched in it. In another world she would have thrown that t-shirt away for the stains alone.

His eyes were dark, stormy. She knew that expression. And she knew the blood on his hands was not solely from the duck he clutched there.

Her first instinct was to let him be, let him soak up his own pain and anger and whatever else he felt. Let him deal with it. He was a grown-ass man, and the last thing she needed was another person to be added to her gaggle of orphans.

She let him pass without so much as a nod, which she supposed was best. He wouldn't even look at her.

She tried not to take it personally, tried to tell herself that it was just the same as him leaving before she woke. It was just Daryl. Didn't mean anything.

But it _felt_ like it meant something.

She heard Beth chirp a greeting at him, then, and suddenly she wondered how those nights had gone, just Daryl and a very sick Beth. She knew, without a doubt, that she had nothing to worry about in the romance department... But the way she spoke to him, so easily and so much more perkier than even she dared that morning, told her something more had happened with Beth. And maybe that something was the reason Daryl had been so different when he had returned to her.

_So different._ He wasn't acting so different at that moment.

But, she figured, if Beth was going to try and draw Daryl out of his black mood, the least she could do was help. She was fairly certain she had something to do with it, anyway; Daryl was not one to show weakness, feelings, emotions. And yesterday had been...quite an emotional day for him. From start to finish.

He was probably just embarrassed. That was all.

She started towards the front door, wiped her muddy boots on the welcome mat with gusto before walking over the threshold.

He was in the kitchen, still covered in blood. He had removed his vest, and a part of her really, really hoped he would change his shirt right in front of her, too. Hadn't she seen tattoos on him those summers ago? The word on his breast and the...gargoyles? Were they gargoyles? On his back?

He was still watching her. She gulped hurriedly, and smiled broad. Felt herself batting her eyelashes at him, praying he wouldn't scoff or run off.

But he didn't. In fact, she almost got a smile at him. Almost. Saw the very beginnings of it quirking his lips.

But then his gaze darkened again, and he went back to searching through the drawers, probably for a clean knife, if she was going to bet anything.

But all the knives were on top of the fridge, where she had recommended they be put, so that babies couldn't get to them, but anyone else could. Anyone else who had been told where they were.

She reached up and pulled the butcher down, swiping the dust off on her jeans before thumping him on the hip. He took the knife from her without looking, and walked back swiftly outside to cook the duck.

She sighed. Was that a rejection? A polite not-interested?

She was reading too much into this. This was Daryl. She needed to stop over-thinking... And just look. Just look at him.

He hunched over the little grill he was starting up, the duck sitting in his lap to be plucked and gutted once the water got boiling. The girls slowly trickled over, but by Daryl's glare, she knew he hated them. Probably just Lizzie. She had seen him glare at her before, his grip tightening around Judith as a near snarl formed on his lips.

She was nearly certain he had guessed her horrible secret. One of them, at least. But he hadn't asked, for which she was grateful.

**wWw**

She saw them when they drove off.

Tyreese sat in the front with her, everyone else crammed into the back. And as she jumped out of the driver's seat to latch the gate back, she saw it. A body, by the fence. A mass of footprints, bloody handprints on the wooden panels. There was way too much blood on the ground for the single walker, though, and it took her less than three seconds to see the obvious ruts in the blood-soaked dirt that led into the woods.

She walked to the gate and closed it slowly, tried to get her breathing under control.

She knew where they were. Those footprints were coming from the prison.

She glanced back at Daryl, dressed again in his clothes from yesterday, his bloody, borrowed garments discarded.

He had been covered in their friends' blood. He hadn't been embarrassed. He had been scarred, wracked with guilt.

And _that _was something she would not let him suffer through himself.

She came back to the car and slid into the driver's seat easily, glancing up at him in the rearview. His eyes were closed, his head resting on the back of the seat. His fists clenched.

She backed out of the dirt driveway and onto the open road in silence.

"Let's go get your Daddy," Beth whispered to Judith softly, her face resting on the baby's head in her lap.

**WwW**

**AN #2: Reviews are love! Thanks for reading. **


	10. Chapter 10

**AN #1: I love you guys so so much. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to write this month, what with finals and EOCs, but I promise I won't forget y'all. Thank you so much for your support! *hugs***

**WwW**

It was a little past noon when they came upon the first house.

It was large - beautiful - the type of house Carol had always wanted. Big and white with pillars like the White House, too many oak trees to even count. And an oyster shell driveway.

Or, she thought, it _used_ to be beautiful.

The wrought iron fence swayed in the wind, and when she drove through slowly, a walker turned towards the car. It hobbled from behind the house along an empty driveway.

Empty. The cars that had been left there were gone.

She felt more than saw Tyreese stiffen beside her, and the grief she felt for him was almost too much. He had had two people in this world that he loved, and one had already been taken from him. He only had Sasha left.

She reached over to take his hand, then looked in the rear view to Daryl and the girls. He was already watching her with strong, cautious eyes, his hands gripping his knees.

She parked the car smoothly. "Let's go check it out," she stated, trying to muster as much strength as possible in her words as she stared him down.

He nodded to her as she reached up to the dash to retrieve her little handgun that she hadn't had to use just yet. Checked the bullets reflexively, looked at the limping walker, and flipped the safety.

He twisted to get his bow off the back dash, then climbed out to grab one of his semi-automatics from the trunk.

She slammed her door as he closed the trunk, jumping despite herself as the walker moaned and started a half-hearted trot towards them.

"Ready?" she breathed, turning to face him once more as she tried to keep herself composed, tried to tell herself that the cars weren't here because they had left to the last house, probably looking for them.

_Them. _Not we. Not her.

He nodded, and so she turned to the walker and sighed.

It was old, for which she was grateful. Old and gray and rotting.

She walked quickly to take care of it, hoping to goodness it was the only one and praying that if there were more and they were theirs, they were inside, so her and Daryl could take care of them without shattering the girls' hope. Perhaps damaging Lizzie even more than she already was.

_Damaged_. Too ugly a word to use on a little girl.

When she came back around the house, he was inspecting the stairs, running deft fingertips over the paint-chipped banister that led to the second-story main living area.

She saw bloody footprints, everywhere. Saw his eyes squint and focus on a spot not too far from their feet where there were two neat holes with caverns of splintered wood around them. Bullet holes.

His face was screwed up tight, his eyes tiny slits as he concentrated.

She placed a hand on his back and ignored the way he stiffened. "What do you see?" she whispered, hoping that she had achieved the soothing tone she was aiming for.

He didn't move much, just shook his head, and then coughed.

She knew she was making him uncomfortable then, but he was just going to have to live with the love for a second or two. He needed it.

"Just one person," he muttered. "Looks kinda small."

_Well, duh. The shoe print was smaller than hers, so, yeah, she'd say it was kinda small.__  
_  
But she nodded anyway, kept her sarcastic comments to herself as she let her hand drop and proceeded up the steps, heard him follow after her quickly.

The blood stuck to her boots as she climbed, and all she could wonder was whose life was coating the soles of her shoes now.

She came to the open door and shot out her hand to stop him, trying feebly to spare him.

Bodies. Three of them. One in the middle, his chest completely empty of everything that was supposed to be there, two others with torn nails and bloody maws.

She held her hand up to her lips, just in case there were more. And when he looked at her with fear and confusion, she knew she had to show him.

She pointed, watched his face fall and such pain echo there that her heart broke for him, for their people, laid out dead in a sea of red gore.

He lurched forward so suddenly she nearly face planted trying to keep him back, trying to keep him from looking too close and seeing things he couldn't unsee.

_She_ should be the one to take care of, to see, the hard things, just for once. She knew now why he was so distant today, and although it was slightly selfish, she didn't want him going away from her. She didn't want him to hurt any more.

He dragged her with him towards the bodies like a pack mule, and it was when she lurched to drag him back that she saw words. Clear patterns in the blood, seemingly written with the toe of a boot.

He shrugged her off and hunched over the message. Her own momentum sent her thumping against the doorframe, and when he started to read it, she couldn't help but take in several shuddering breaths.

_Only ten left now. Going to next house._

Ten. Only ten.

Who did she need alive? How many people did she need to have lived?

Glenn and Maggie. Hershel, if he wasn't gone. Carl. Sasha, for Tyreese. Michonne. Molly.

And Rick. She needed Rick, too, if only for Judith and Carl.

But that, she knew, was a lie. She needed Rick because he was one of her best friends, her family. He had wronged her horribly, but he was still hers just as much as Glenn and Maggie and Hershel were hers.

Family forgave one another. And if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to forgive.

She shook off her thoughts and looked again at the bodies, took in a shuddering breath as she recognized those faces. None of whom she was close to, and none that Daryl had brought to them, but still. Still.

She brought her hands to her mouth and breathed deep, squeezed her eyes shut.

It wasn't them. It wasn't them. It wasn't them.

But it could be them.

Daryl reached for her, and she saw worry in those eyes. Remembered how foolishly she had dealt - or, rather, hadn't dealt - with Luke, and knew he was probably scared that she would have another of those strange episodes.

She raised her palm at him and shook her head, tried to convey to him that she was fine, that she could handle this.

She shook her head, knew her eyes were wide and scared, but didn't quite know how to slip her mask back on, how to put on false bravado in front of him. Didn't know if she really wanted to.

"We can't tell them," she felt herself stutter. She knew her words rang true when he nodded, and she thought of the four girls in the car just a little bit away that each needed someone to be found, someone who may have arrived and died at this very house. "We can't tell them what we saw here."

He nodded some more and took in several deep breaths through his mouth, just as she had been. Living in this world for a year and a half had done little for most people's tolerances for the smell of rotting bodies.

He wasn't doing well, with these bodies right here. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands shook as he brought in shuddering breaths.

He would want to explore the rest of the house, gather supplies. He would go and be strong, and if he saw anyone else, he wouldn't tell her.

She set her pistol down on a table by the door and walked forward, feeling her shoes stick to the sodden wood like suction cups as she walked around towards the kitchen.

For once, he would have to follow her.

"I'll get the pantry," she called quietly, knowing he wouldn't leave her to do it alone, especially after she had just set her weapon down.

Sure enough, he followed after her.

She immediately spied the orange backpack. Her heart soared at the sight, and she knew, just knew, that Carl was alive somewhere, because that had been his.

He was alive. He was alive.

She had to believe it.

She crouched beside it and pulled the slick material from under the table, crouched there and started with the outermost pockets.

The tears were instantaneous.

She straightened quickly, slung the bag over her shoulder as she pressed the little photos into Daryl's callused hands.

And for the first time in a long time, she saw a true grin spread across his face.

**wWw**

**AN #2: Thank you all so much for reading! Drop me a line if you can. : )**


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